4

8

hrs

In a time of mass confusion, frustration and anger, fear is something I have felt very little of. Besides the initial full catastrophe thinking on behalf of those I love who are more at risk, I'm hopelessly frustrated.

As someone who constantly loves to be in the state of doing, I've resisted stillness despite it being part of my morning routine for over a year now.

In the past three days, I've cycled over 60 kilometres, I ran 15 kilometres despite doctors orders, I've practised yoga everyday this week (some days twice), I've painted, drawn, written, read, cooked, cleaned, worked. I've spent hours facetiming friends, calling grandparents, writing promised yet overdue postcards home.

I've been searching for something which holds me long enough to forget the bizarre reality of it all. I've been trying to escape it in the most productive ways I know how (with the exception of the low point of wanting to drop everything in London and run back to Australia on an extremely cheap airfare).

Wine from Australia. A new vinyl playing. Watching below from a window not designed for sitting. The first proper dinner I've cooked for myself in too long most likely burning downstairs. The first moment in a while which felt right.

Instead, here's something I wrote on the 5th of March on a train to Paris. Before any of this was real. Before; when I was just a passenger on course to a weekend away to catch up with friends, see some art, listen to good music and enjoy the early morning smell of a Parisian bakery. Before; when those things were still at my liberty.

48 HOURS

 

48 hours is all it takes

To go from one side of the world to the other 

 

To go from months apart

To seconds apart

 

To go from maybe

To signing a year long contract

 

To go from paramour

To silence

 

To go from someone I wanted to know

To someone who doesn't want to be known

To go from big smoke independence 

To the unconditional love of an old friend

 

To go from directionless

To determined

 

To decide that there is surely

Something better than this

 

Something on the other side of immaturity

That awaits

 

All it takes

Is 48hrs

 

To start over again.

To trust that the next 48hrs 

Will be better than those before. 

MARCH 16 2020

By Sophie Peterson.

All work is my own unless otherwise stated.

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STUDIO 

ACIE

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